


Feel Anything

by Pookaseraph



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Age of Ultron, Angst, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Technophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pookaseraph/pseuds/Pookaseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is Colonel America and a Defender, that doesn't mean he has to like what he's forced to do by necessity. Unfortunately, Colonel America is also Steve Rogers, and that means it hurts when he sees how the past has changed Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Amuly shares some blame in this, but between the two of us we are cornering the market in post-apocalyptic face fucking.
> 
> Spoilers for Age of Ultron #8.

Steve hated this part of the job; a scrawny kid magician, bound by the hands to keep her from moving, bound around the mouth to keep her from talking, put that way by the Defenders and ready to be delivered up to _him_. Steve wasn't an idiot, he knew that unregistered magic wasn't a risk that New York - that the free world - could afford. That didn't mean he had to enjoy what felt like another concession, freedom thrown away in the name of security.

"If you were mentally frowning any harder, I'd worry you would actually show an emotion, Colonel." Frost. Stark's right hand, or the left, he supposed it depended on which telepath was doing that dirty work that day.

"Colonel America, delivering the unregistered Sorceress per the requirements for the Defenders Charter to Operate," he bit out the words.

Frost made a gesture and a few Starkguard drones congregated around the Sorceress, prodding her along to one of the many cells where she would be... reeducated. Her ability to do magic would be stripped by one of the telepaths, or her mind completely shattered if the ability ran too deep.

His duty done, Steve turned around and headed back towards the Defenders flier. He didn't want to return to the disappointment in Stephen's eyes - the Sorcerer Supreme had been unable to keep yet another new Sorceress from walking down the path of Le Fey - but more than that he didn't want to remain on the Carrier any longer than necessary.

"A moment of your time, Colonel," Frost said.

Steve considered not stopping. Technically it would be a Charter violation, but Stark always gave him that touch of latitude the he wouldn't grant to any other Chartered teams. He turned. Frost's head was set at an odd angle - communicating with Xavier, in all likelihood - before she looked back to him.

"Don't you want to see him?" She asked.

He did, and he was man enough to admit that it wasn't because Frost had implanted it. No, his desire to see Stark was-- perpetual, like a moth to flame. "No."

Frost tilted her head again, the very image of 'suit yourself', before she turned her back on him and headed back to the inside.

She _never_ asked him if Steve wanted to see Stark. "Frost?"

She paused, back still to him.

"How is he?"

"You're welcome to see for yourself," she answered, before she continued inside.

Steve cursed Frost under his breath, but he turned back towards the Carrier and headed inside. The various Starkguard, drones and otherwise, scattered around didn't remark on his presence; Steve knew the way up to the bridge, manned only by Stark, literally plugged into the carrier as he no doubt siphoned through more and more intelligence, brought from every corner of the Tech World.

He was just as pale as usual, skin greyed, even his blue eyes clouded over with... red - 'additional optical sensors'.

"I didn't request your presence, Colonel."

Steve sighed. Of course. He seriously considered telling Stark that he was going to have to complain to Frost, but he had come of his own free will. "You look--" There was nothing else he could say. "Tired, Stark."

Stark didn't answer.

"Tony."

The dozen wires retracted from the plugs along Stark's spine and down his arms, the little bits that connected him to weapons and data and information receding into the floor. "Are we really going to go there, now, _Colonel_?"

Steve hung his head. Frost knew how this ended, she had to, she had to know that even as Steve saw this man - barely-human, who ran the world with an iron fist, who crushed dissidents, who ripped away shred after shred of his own humanity to make him better able to combat Le Fey - she knew his heart better than him. "Yes. If you want."

They didn't even leave the bridge. Steve just took the last few steps between them and suppressed the initial shudder from the chill and scratch of Tony's suit's fingers as they went around the back of his neck, material soft enough that he could almost forget the metal skeleton underneath that held enough power to crush his throat.

Tony's lips were cold, and his mouth tasted like blood - _iron_ \- but underneath it all was that damn connection that Steve couldn't deny, electric. He snorted against Tony's mouth, and started to walk backwards, pulling Tony from where he floated atop his observation platform, against one of the rails. Steve's fingers, as always, fit perfectly between the reinforced ribbing at the back of the suit, squeezing against the underlayer of suit that contained a lattice work of artificial nerve endings. He tugged off his gloves while Tony ripped away the clasps at the throat of Steve's suit.

When they were back on each other, Tony's mouth on Steve's throat, thumb brushing against his cheek where the slashes of his old scars were still tender, rather than painful, gentle enough to let something warm pool in his chest, if only for a moment. He raked ungloved nails back between Tony's armor, but he barely even twitched.

"Turn up your fucking sensitivity, Stark. I could have stabbed you in the back and you wouldn't even notice."

Tony responded by savaging Steve's mouth, all teeth and anger, and the next taste of blood in his mouth was his own, not Tony, but this time when he clawed his fingers into Tony's back, the pained groan went right to his dick.

"Yeah," Tony gasped against Steve's lips. "Come on. Make me feel it." It was a taunt, always the same taunt, but Steve raked his nails again, under the armor, against Tony's spine, hard enough that his mind would be screaming with the danger-pain of someone so close to his nervous system and the attention it took to keep his suit safeguards from dulling the pain again.

"Feel that, Stark?" His fingers dug in more, squeezed tighter.

The bit back moan was the only answer Steve needed, the pain great enough that Tony's armored knees buckled and the repulsors lowered him to the ground as Steve had to let go of his grip on Tony's spine. Tony rested there, on his knees, one of those damn _ports_ digging into Steve's stomach, a reminder of everything Tony had become over the past years... if only Steve could convince himself that meant he shouldn't still care for the man... if only his mind didn't scream that Tony was barely a man anymore...

If only his mind didn't scream that Morgana Le Fey ripping his lover in half was his own damn fault, that anything he'd become since then was on Steve.

Tony's breath was ragged, probably still recovering from the over-stimulation of Steve's nails against his nerve receptors, and Steve let his fingers slide along the smooth skin of Tony's scalp, and then let his thumbnail brush over the repulsor node and port there, sighing.

The cover slowly withdrew, and Steve looked down at the neat metal tines that made up the port interface. Once... it had been Cable, he supposed, had floated the idea of a trojan code injection that could have been plugged right into one of those ports. 'Fry the little Bit's motherboard'... Steve felt guilty about the thought even as he licked his thumb and slid the wet finger across the receptors. Tony hissed.

They waited like that - Tony on his knees, Steve half-hard standing above him - for what felt like hours, but Steve knew Tony wouldn't allow himself that long unplugged from the thousands of data streams he monitored. Steve's fingers ghosted over the lines of Tony's face, tracing where, a lifetime ago, he would have felt the prickle and scratch of beard.

He watched Tony's eyes flutter closed, and then felt the inhalation of breath when Steve brushed his thumb against the port affixed to Tony's cheekbone, even if as he could never figure _why_ it had to be there. Some part of him still felt the residual warmth at the memory of a time when he and Tony had been less complicated.

Wishing could not bring that back, however; they had what they had, it was broken, it couldn't be put back together, but they did have this. Tony finally moved as well, leaning in to nuzzle at the bulge against Steve's uniform, before opening his mouth, inviting.

Steve slid a pair of fingers into Tony's mouth, letting him suck on them, wet and warm and intent. He'd always had a desperately clever mouth, and Steve felt himself twitch under Tony's hands as he worked the buckle of his uniform and started to peel away the leather, opening it up only as much as necessary to free Steve's cock.

Tony worked the same way he tackled anything, the synthetic skin of Tony's hand not quite natural, but familiar to Steve all the same. His fingers played gently along the shaft, not providing near enough pressure as he avoided scratching the edges of his hand repulsors anywhere sensitive.

When Steve finally withdrew his fingers from Tony's mouth, the man gasped again. "Tell me how it feels, Steve."

With no warning, he leaned in, taking half of Steve's length in one swift movement. Steve staggered back, just a fraction, the rail of the observation platform the only thing that kept him standing, one hand wrapped against it, the other - with spit-slicked fingers - groping on instinct for Tony's face and the open ports there.

Tony moaned and took him in deeper a moment later... Once, ages ago, during one of their calms, curled up in a bed rather than fucking against a railing, Tony had said it felt like sparks across his brain, one of the few things intense enough for him to still feel.

"Wet," he said a moment later, almost embarrassed at how Tony could _still_ make him feel like an idiot after all these years. "Warm..."

He shook his head, just slightly, to clear it as Tony began to suck in earnest lips and tongue sliding off to tease at his tip.

"Love--" He bit back what he'd almost said. He was too hardened now to say that to Tony, no matter how true. "Love having you like this. Your mouth is... you're... God, Tony..."

Steve curled his hand free of the rail and slid it against the back of Tony's head, the skin and the suit. He didn't let himself have this, not from anyone else, and the familiar wet heat was a welcome friend, the hard dig of a repulsor node into his stomach as Tony pressed him back against the rail reminded him exactly how vulnerable Steve was - and Tony in return - right now.

"I've got you," Steve said, fingers still clenched so hard they were in danger of cramping. "Come on, you want to feel it tomorrow, don't you?"

Tony grabbed him, both hands on Steve's ass now, yanking him forward, forcing Steve to fuck his face harder, and he used his own leverage to respond in kind; he had no tender caresses left, just the raw demand of his body, and Tony's. His mouth was wet and pliant, gag reflex non-existent, as Steve used him, pulling out just long enough for Tony to catch half a breath before pushing back in, only for Tony to waste that breath moaning around Steve's cock and pulling him even closer.

"Genius, Tony... come on..."

Tony held him in place tongue and mouth working in time to drag his orgasm out, and Steve came a few moments later, hot down Tony's throat as he mumbled nonsense about how good it felt, how clever Tony was, and how he was so, so good at what he did.

His babble lasted until he looked down and saw where Tony was leaning against his thigh, head tilted to keep his ports from cutting into anything sensitive. Steve ran his fingers over the crown of Tony's head, brushing and feeling nothing but smooth skin, follicles long since burned away.

He fell to his knees a few moments later, hands against the back of Tony's neck, touching the bits of skin and nerved patchwork of suit, stroking.

"You feel so good," Steve assured him. He ignored the wetness where Tony's face touched his neck.

Their moments of detente never lasted long, though, and Tony pushed away letting his repulsors come back online enough to right himself, leaving him to stand - float really - over Steve. He would have rolled his eyes, it was so predictable, if he weren't feeling even more a fool himself for pretending this was anything more than what it was - two men too set in their ways and too broken to do anything but hurt each other.

Steve stood and tucked himself back into his pants, did up his fly and his belt, and then righted his collar. By the time he as done, Tony was already plugged back into the Carrier.

Tony, as usual. He sighed and reached out, fingers running between the armored seams, against the sensory mesh of his lover's back, but he didn't even acknowledge it.

"I forgive you," he said, and he pretended not to see the way Tony's head sagged.

The trip back to the flier was interminable, and Steve liked to imagine that even one of the Starkguard he passed on the way there was ignorant of what had just happened, but he couldn't really hold onto that delusion.

He made it back to the Defenders Mansion in short order and tried to ignore the haggard look on Stephen's face as he stood in the doorway, waiting for any news from Steve and his time on the Carrier.

"Stark's planning something unforgivable," Steve said, not even staying at Stephen's side long enough for him to ask for clarification. "We should increase patrols and plan for potential seditious activity."

Jan, Peter, and most importantly Logan, all ignored the stench of sex and metal on him as he took the long walk to his private quarters and the longer shower. He felt guilty about it, but he ran a hand down his chest, nails scratching, remembering when the mouth that traveled down his chest came with the prickle of a neatly trimmed beard... and a _smile_. That was what Steve missed, having something to smile about when Tony's mouth was on him.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the two of them laughing, even when the world was unkind, even when their kisses were hard and angry, not playful. He remembered a time when he could do something that made Tony feel anything but the tingle of an electric signal shot across the wrong part of the brain for it to even feel good.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what guilt was already building in the man's mind, and wonder if this time would be the time Steve couldn't return, couldn't say that he forgave Tony... Stark.

Stark. Not Tony.

It was the only time he envied Stark, when he felt like this, because in that moment he would have given anything to _not_ feel.


End file.
